He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August. “You must not think of me as one. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. That's well. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River.
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